Chapter 1
Once in a while, Ricardo Torralba hit the hired gun jackpot and scored a job in a high-rise office building. For all the owners of those places convinced themselves their properties were ultra-secure, they were… not. Hundreds of people came and went all day long, and sometimes that continued well into the night. Security had neither the time nor the inclination to give photo IDs more than a cursory glance, and those who did were quickly chewed out by important people in a hurry to conduct important business. Briefcases were as much a part of the scenery as frazzled workers, shouted cell phone conversations, and the ever-present marcato of dress shoes and high heels on hard floors.
About the only thing Ricardo didn’t like about working in an office building was that he usually had to wear a suit to blend in—God, he hated suits—but the hits paid top dollar and most of those places had excellent coffee shops on their ground floors. A hundred grand and a perfect caramel macchiato? He couldn’t complain. Those jobs were the best.
Today, Ricardo was on a job, but he wasn’t going into an office building.
No, this contract meant working in his absolute least favorite venue—some rich asshole’s fortified citadel of a mansion. In this case, the multimillion-dollar monstrosity belonging to tech billionaire Lance Baldwin. Ricardo was more than happy to take out that fuckwit for a lot of reasons, but his liaison had insisted it had to happen at Baldwin’s home.
“It doesn’t matter why,” she’d told him after giving him a laundry list of strict rules about the when, where, and how. “This is the job. Take it or leave it.”
He would’ve been happy to leave it. After all, he had plenty of money and plenty of work, and he didn’t need that kind of bullshit in his life. The problem was all the bullshit that could follow on the very rare occasion he did turn down a job. “Take it or leave it” in this line of work basically meant “take the job, or get shot because you know about the job.”
At least the employer had sweetened the deal this time with a five-million-dollar payday. In cash. With half of it upfront.
Okay, fine. Twist his arm.
In the moment, all the inconveniences associated with infiltrating the mini Fort Knox home of a self-important prick had seemed minor in comparison to the suitcase full of cash. This afternoon, as he drove a shitty exterminator van toward the Baldwin compound, his thought process was basically Damn it, past-Ricardo. What were you thinking?
No matter. He was here, he’d taken the deposit, and there was no turning back until Lance Baldwin was dead. And at least he didn’t have to wear a suit, though his tactical gear was a little uncomfortable beneath the stained gray Pest Assassin coveralls. He could live with it.
In an effort to hide in plain sight, Ricardo conspicuously drove past three of the wall-mounted cameras in broad daylight before reaching the southwest gate, which was a service entrance. Seriously, who the fuck had a service entrance at his house? Lance Baldwin, that was who, but as ostentatious as it was, it did make Ricardo’s life a little easier, so while he judged the shit out of it, he didn’t complain. It would probably be the last piece of Baldwin bullshit that worked in his favor tonight.
At the gate, Ricardo pulled up to the security booth, eased the Pest Assassin van to a halt on its shrieking brakes, and rolled down the window.
A tired-looking security guard shuffled out. “You here to deal with the rats?”
Ricardo smiled and tapped the magnetic sign on the driver’s side door. Carefully masking his Catalan accent with an American one, he said, “That’s what they pay me to do.”
The guard grunted. “Good. Baldwin’s wife sees another rat, she’s going to blow a gasket.”
“Can’t blame her.” Ricardo handed over his fake identification and a clipboard containing the work order for today’s extermination. “I’ll get ‘em out of there.”
With a nod, the guard took his documents. He skimmed over them, then nodded again and handed them back. “You’re all set. I’ll let the staff know you’re on your way up.” He motioned at the driveway beyond the gate. “Just follow that, and when it splits off, hang a right. It’ll take you where you need to be.”
Ricardo nodded and offered a congenial smile. “Thank you.”
The guard stepped back into the security booth, and a second later, the gate began a slow inward